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In the backyard

June 27, 2009

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All Of Us Must Be Better Now

The times require words. Words that I worry will sound puny or self-indulgent. Words that I know will fail to fully express my feelings of fear, sadness and rage. I fear catching and spreading the virus that has caused the deaths of 2 million people on this planet. Sadness over the inequity and injustice laid bare in the deaths of George Floyd, Brionna Taylor, Rayshard Brooks, and too many more black citizens this year. Rage over the political and social chaos nurtured by a depraved and dissolute President. Fear, sadness and rage describes a toxic feeling-fog that I has socked me in this year, and maybe even the last four years. My cosmic dark mood and depressive energy has fed on personal losses too. The disappearance of most of my business, the cruel layoff of a dying client and friend, the months of isolation robbing my parents of community and connection, the lack of and longing for human touch, and underlying it all, illness have tested my resilience. I've been dealing ...

Close enough to feel your heart beat

My youngest grandchild stood behind her storm door in an Easter dress tied up with a big pink bow. She was wearing her brother's boots and an expectant smile that turned my heart upside down. My son, her dad, opened the door and told her she could go out. She, along with that crazy, big smile on her face froze. I could see her thinking, "I can go hug my grandma?" No, she couldn't go that far and even at 21 months, she knew it. She could see from my face, that I knew it too. Since talking isn't really all that interesting when you're 6 and under, the kids busied themselves with the candy and toys we brought. We grown-ups stood apart and yearned (well I was yearning) across that 6-feet divide. What will we change after this is over? Will we catch each other up in our arms for embraces long enough to feel our hearts beating? I can't wait to touch my children's faces, getting so close they swat me away.

Everything changed

I haven't written a blog post since our last President was still in office. It was a kinder, gentler time. It was a time in which I didn't have to worry about COVID-19 coronavirus. It was before my mom's heart failed, before my sister and I took turns staying with our 89-year-old dad who had literally lost track of time, before everything changed. I've been thinking about blogging for a while. Wondering if writing about the joys, pains, pitfalls, and sheer exhaustion of being a "caretaker" for my parents will help me process and cope. I don't do the caretaking alone. My younger sister is actually the general manager of this endeavor. Over the past year and half we've moved my mother from hospital to transitional care, to condo, to hospital, to transitional care, to condo, to independent living in a graduated care building, to hospital, to transitional care, and back to "independent" living. We've moved my dad from the condo he share...

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In the backyard

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